


Husband and Wife

by Devilkins_kinks



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Cages, Forced Feminization, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Smut, Tired Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilkins_kinks/pseuds/Devilkins_kinks
Summary: “No worries, Jaskier. I’ll make good wife out of you, yet, pretty you up till you can’t even think about living without my cock inside you.”Jaskier turns his back to the man, contemplates running but Geralt is a witcher, a hunter. So instead, Jaskier goes to sleep, furious, humiliated, and just a bit horny.Or, Geralt's sick of Jaskier sleeping around and decides to make Jaskier into his pretty wife in order to stop him getting into trouble, forces him into dresses and locks his cock away, teaches Jaskier that a good wife is nothing more than a wet hole for her husband!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 349





	Husband and Wife

Jaskier’s still ginning, glowing with adrenaline after a good fuck and an escaped husband when he and Geralt get back to camp. Shame, he’d been planning on sleeping with the husband, too— but, his wife was as lovely as any, the sweet-salty taste of her cunt, the softness of her skin— a harsh jerk of his head brings him out of his reverie, Geralt’s hand twisted in his hair, his face forced close to his.

“I’m fucking _done_ with this.” It’s not a roar, but close and loud enough that it makes Jaskier’s ears hurt. He hides a flinch as Geralt shoves him away and goes to rummage through his bags.

This is it, then, when his companion finally has had enough of him. It’s been a long time coming, this, knew it’d happen when they’d met in Posada years ago— Jaskier goes to pack his bags. He knows Geralt would let him stay the night, but the man’s nearly vibrating with anger, and Jaskier just wants to give him some peace.

He shoves his bedroll into his pack, glancing over his shoulder— only to find a pair of thighs, someone standing behind him.

“Stand up.”

“Geralt, I’m sorry, I was just—” He yelps as he’s dragged up onto his feet, his arms aching where Geralt’s fingers had dug into his skin.

“Geralt—” his jaw snaps closed as his friend orders him to shut up again, the command so quick and strong that it stuns him into complying.

Until Geralt squats in front of him, unlacing Jaskier’s breeches. “I assure you, dear friend, no harm was caused to my—” thick fingers squeeze around his cock, and Jaskier is helpless to the slow breath he takes in as his body stills from the threat.

“Good. Stay still.” He sounds pleased and Jaskier hates how much he adores it. His breeches and smalls are tugged down, pooling at his feet when Geralt reaches into his pocket, a small curved item in his hands with a padlock hanging off it, ready to be locked.

“Um— Geralt? Maybe we should,” he shifts, the wind chill against his skin, nearly as cold as the dread in the pit of his stomach, “Maybe we should talk about this—” he takes a step back, fumbles and trips, forest floor digging into his back as he tries to get back up again, only to find Geralt pressing him down.

“Geralt!” He kicks in earnest now, as the man fits the ring behind his balls, scratching at hardened and scarred skin, only his friend doesn’t react for shit. He bucks his hips in desperate attempts to throw Geralt off him to no avail, and as the padlock clicks into place, there’s nothing he can do but fall back onto the earth, his struggling for null.

“Good, girl,” the witcher mutters, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s caged cock, and how Jaskier had _wanted_ once upon a time, wanted and loved Geralt. He spits at the witcher’s feet when he’s let to stand again, anger bright in his eyes. Geralt laughs, unabashed like when he’s a little tipsy on white gull, and digs his fingers into Jaskier’s jaw to force his mouth open, and doesn’t let go until the bard swallows down his spit.

“No worries, Jaskier. I’ll make good wife out of you, yet, pretty you up till you can’t even think about living without my cock inside you.”

Jaskier turns his back to the man, contemplates running but Geralt is a witcher, a hunter. So instead, Jaskier goes to sleep, furious, humiliated, and just a bit horny.

Geralt kisses him a good morning the next day, large hands splayed over Jaskier’s hips. He wants to gag with the way the witcher’s tongue fucks into his mouth, retch with the small pat to his ass; instead, he’s left with his cock straining against the metal bars of his cage. The witcher slips a had under his clothes, calloused palms trailing over his ass to drag a finger between them, up his hole.

“Strip, Jask, be a good girl for me.”

Jaskier hates himself for complying.

Geralt opens him up, gentle— that may be the worst part in all this, how good the witcher’s being to him. “Your cunt’s so cute,” he mumbles, burying his face into Jaskier’s ass, tongue-fucking him till the poor bard’s seeing stars, a string of pre dripping onto the dirt from off the metal cage.

His orgasm is a wretched thing, cum dripping pathetically out of his cock as Geralt fucks into him, Jaskier choking out a wet sob as his prostate is practically milked by the witcher’s insistent thrusts.

“Geralt, please,” he’s not sure what he’s asking for, for more, or for it to stop. The witcher only kisses him: _such a tight cunt, feels so good around my cock, do you like that? Your husband fucking into you— fuck, Jask, such a good wife for me,_ and Jaskier can do little else but listen as Geralt fucks into him, loving it more than he hates it.

He shivers, cum dripping out of his hole, as Geralt cleans up his cock and its cage, tears welling in his eyes as it locks around him again.

Geralt takes him into his arms, kisses Jaskier’s head as he shakes with silent sobs for his lost freedom. _It’s for the best, Jas, you need someone to take good care of you, no more cuckolds chasing you down— look at how good I’m being to you, aren’t I a good husband?_ His voice is so gentle, so soothing that Jaskier finds himself nodding yes.

~~

Soon enough, Jaskier grows to like it, learns that his own cock is useless, drips worthless orgasm through its cage as his husband fucks him, nothing more than wet hole for him. It’s fucking _painful_ not to have Geralt’s cock in him, and each night at the traven, Jaskier ends up on Geralt’s lap, his skirts covering them as he idly bounces on the man’s cock. It’s rare he plays for an audience— he’s certainly not the breadwinner, Geralt takes care of him just as well, and Jaskier sings to him in the late nights.

Rings are gently worked onto each other’s fingers one day, their bodies pressed together under a canopy of leaves, starlight just barely peeking through. Jaskier’s hair is braided down his back, lips smeared with rouge as Geralt holds fucks into him from behind, his useless cock straining in its cage. It’s utterly perfect, and a Jaskier wonders why he’d ever bothered to fight the man about it months ago; it’s what he’s needed all along.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of summary from prompt!
> 
> [Send me kinky prompts on tumblr! (@devilkin-kink)](https://devilkin-kink.tumblr.com/)


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